The Creed Legacy. Linda Lael Miller

      Carolyn, realizing she’d been gawking, turned away, suddenly very busy getting a can of soup, a box of crackers and a loaf of bread from the pantry.

      Glancing back, she saw Brody approach the inside door, push it open carefully and peer into the next room.

      He turned, with a kind of brotherly softening in his eyes, and put his index finger to his lips.

      “Shh,” he said.

      “I didn’t make a sound,” Carolyn protested, in a whisper.

      Why didn’t the man just leave now, if he didn’t want to disturb Tricia?

      Instead, he lingered, one-hundred-percent cowboy, with his hat in his hands and his mouth tilted sideways in a grin.

      “We don’t have to be enemies, you know,” he said quietly.

      Carolyn, in the middle of slapping a slice of bologna onto a piece of bread, opened her mouth and then closed it again.

      “Do we?” Brody persisted.

      Carolyn recovered enough to reply, though the words came out in a terse little rush of breath. “Tricia is my friend and business partner. You’re her brother-in-law. Therefore, we have to be civil to each other.”

      “Is it that hard?” Brody asked. “Being ‘civil,’ I mean?”

      Suddenly, all the old feelings rose up inside Carolyn, nearly overwhelming her. Tears stung her eyes and she turned her head quickly, bit down hard on her lower lip.

      “Carolyn?” he said.

      He was standing right behind her by then; she felt the heat and hard masculinity of him in every nerve in her body.

      Just go, she thought desperately, unable to risk turning around to face him.

      Brody Creed had never been one to leave well enough alone. He took a light hold on her shoulders, and Carolyn found herself looking up into the treacherous blue of those trademark eyes.

      “I’m sorry for what I did, way back when,” he told her, his voice a gruff rumble. “I was wrong. But don’t you think it’s time we put all that behind us and stopped walking on eggshells every time we happen to be in the same room?”

      He was sorry.

      As far as Carolyn was concerned, sorry was the emptiest, most threadbare word in the English language. People hurt other people, said they were so sorry and then, in her experience at least, turned right around and did the same thing all over again.

      Or something worse.

      Carolyn glanced nervously in the direction of the inside door, afraid of upsetting Tricia. When she spoke, her voice was a ragged whisper. “What do you want me to say, Brody? That I forgive you? Okay, for what it’s worth, I forgive you.”

      Brody’s expression was bleak, but his eyes flashed with frustration. He was famous for his temper, among other things.

      “You’ll forgive, but you won’t forget, is that it?”

      “I might conceivably forgive a rattlesnake for biting me,” Carolyn responded. “After all, it’s a snake’s nature to strike. But I’d be worse than stupid if I forgot and cozied up to the same sidewinder a second time, wouldn’t I?”

      A muscle bunched in Brody’s cheek. He was already sporting a five o’clock shadow, a part of Carolyn observed with a strange detachment. Or maybe he hadn’t shaved at all that morning.

      Oh, hell, what did it matter?

      “You think I’m asking you to ‘cozy up’ to me?” Brody almost growled. His nose was an inch from Carolyn’s, at most. “Damn it, woman, I can’t avoid being around you, and you can’t avoid being around me, and all I’m suggesting here is that you let go of that grudge you’ve been carrying for seven-plus years so we can all move on!”

      Carolyn would have loved to slap Brody Creed just then, or even throttle him, but suddenly the door to the next room opened and Tricia peeked through the opening, stifling a yawn with a patting motion of one hand.

      “Have you two been arguing?” Tricia asked, her gaze shifting from one of them to the other.

      They stepped back simultaneously.

      “No,” Carolyn lied.

      “Everything’s just great,” Brody added, through his teeth.

      CHAPTER TWO

      MISCHIEF LIT TRICIA’S blue eyes as she studied Brody and Carolyn, the pair of them standing as still as cigarstore Indians in the middle of Natty McCall’s kitchen.

      Just looking at her took the edge off Brody’s irritation. He’d always wanted a sister, after all, and now he had one. He felt a similar affection for Melissa, his cousin Steven’s wife, but he didn’t see her practically every day, the way he did Tricia, since Steven, Melissa and their three children lived in Stone Creek, Arizona.

      “Did Conner send you to check up on me, Brody Creed?” Tricia asked in a tone of good-natured suspicion, tilting her head to one side and folding her arms before resting them atop her impressive belly.

      Out of the corner of his eye, Brody saw Carolyn turn away. Her streaky blond hair swung with the motion, brushing against her shoulders, and just that fast, she was busy thumping things around on the counter again.

      “Brody?” Tricia persisted, while Brody was untangling his tongue.

      “It was my own idea to look in on you while I was in town,” Brody finally answered, grubbing up a crooked grin and turning the brim of his hat in both hands, like some shy hero in an old-time Western movie. “I don’t figure Conner would object much, though.”

      Tricia smiled broadly, flicked a glance in Carolyn’s direction.

      The can opener whirred and a pan clattered against a burner.

      Brody sighed.

      “Join us for lunch?” Tricia asked him.

      Carolyn’s backbone went ramrod-straight as soon as Tricia uttered those words, and Brody watched, at once amused and confounded, while she jammed slices of bread down onto the beginnings of two bologna sandwiches. She used so much force to do it that the things looked like they’d been made with a drill press.

      Deciding he’d stirred up enough ill will for one day, Brody shook his head. “I’d better get back to the ranch,” he said. “We’re replacing some of the wire along one of the fence lines.”

      “Oh,” Tricia said, as if disappointed.

      She moved slowly to the table, pulled back a chair just as Brody went to pull it back for her and sank onto the seat.

      “Hey,” Brody said, concerned. “Are you feeling all right?”

      Tricia sighed. “Maybe I’m a little tired,” she confessed. “It’s no big deal.”

      At that, Carolyn stopped flinging food hither and yon and turned to look at Tricia. “I think you should go home and rest,” she said. “This morning was crazy, and we’ve been taking inventory for a couple of days now.”

      “And leave you to straighten up the shop and restock the shelves all by yourself?” Tricia asked. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

      “I can handle it,” Carolyn said. She spoke in a normal tone, but Brody could feel her bristling, all over, like a porcupine fixing to shoot quills in every direction. She didn’t deign to glance his way, of course. “And, anyhow, I’d like to close the shop early today. That way, I could catch up on the bookkeeping, then put the finishing touches on that gypsy skirt I’ve been working on and get it posted on the website.”

      Brody neither knew nor cared what a gypsy skirt was. He was feeling indignant now, standing there on the fringes of the conversation as if he’d either turned transparent